Favourite Son
by jennytork
Summary: The brothers are resting up at Bobby's when the phone call comes in. In the wake of a fire that destroys their home base, there is something very wrong with John Winchester. Suddenly Sam is the favourite son and Dean is... nothing.


_FAVOURITE SON_

"Yes, sir!" Bobby Singer barked into the telephone. "That's exactly what you heard me say! She is one of our best people, and if she says she has to dig up that grave, then you damn well better _let_ her dig up that grave, if not go and help her yourself!" He listened for a second, then nodded. "All right, fine. Good doin' business with you, Sheriff. Be careful out there."

Hanging up the phone marked 'FBI', Bobby ran a hand over his mouth and nose. "I'm gettin' too damned old for this," he sighed and poured himself the last of the dregs that remained in his coffee pot as he locked his front door and checked the wards.

Wandering into the living room, he bent down and ran his fingers over the top of a visibly excited Rumsfeld's skull. "You about ready to head out?" He smiled as the rottweiler's stump of a tail twitched in its best attempt at a wag and he went to open the back door, hearing the satisfying click of claws on wood as the big dog followed, eager and obedient.

He watched Rumsfeld clear the porch in one large jump and vanish into the darkness on his nightly protecting patrol of the junkyard. He set out some food for a midnight snack and some rawhide bones before he made sure that the big dog's water dish was full. Then he set the salt lines and locked the door.

Bobby spent about an hour quietly but steadily working in the library, studying through his massive collection of ancient tomes to try to translate a Sumerian tablet that had come across his desk, when a humming purr in the background finally tickled his attention enough for him to notice it. "...what the..."

Bobby grabbed a pencil and wrote down the translation of the sentence fragment he had just cracked so he wouldn't have to do it all over again, then he headed out of the library to investigate the hum. Realising it was coming from upstairs, he frowned deeply. "...what in the world..." he muttered to himself as he jogged up the stairs and down the short hallway to the boys' room.

As he drew closer, he finally pegged the sound. Finding the door slightly ajar, his slight frown only deepened. "Why would they have the air conditioner on?" he whispered, pushing the door open slowly so it wouldn't creak. It was early May, after all, and the weather had not been hot enough as yet to warrant the boys' window unit humming that strange note that always showed it was going full blast. What was going on?

One glance into the room showed Bobby the answer to his question, and he leaned against the doorframe as his shoulders slumped with relief and a bit of sadness-tinged pride.

Dean's short blond hair glowed softly in the moonlight, and it was the only part of him clearly visible. The rest was tightly bundled under every cover from both beds. Sam lay on top of the covers and half on top of Dean, in his winter flannel pyjamas. Both of them were sound asleep.

Dean had apparently needed the pressure of all the covers and the weight of his slightly taller brother pressing on his long bones to relax him enough to drop him into sleep.

Bobby slid out of the room and into his own bedroom, opening a trunk that lay at the foot of his bed and pulling out a folded quilt. He paused, touching it tenderly and thinking about the time his deceased wife Karen had put into making it. She had wanted children so very badly, and had made a quilt for every bedroom in their house with the hope of filling it with the laughter of children.

"You would have loved Dean and Sam, Karen," he whispered. "They're good boys."

Visibly pulling himself together, he shook the quilt out and headed back into the boys' room. He tucked the quilt loosely around Sam, who burrowed into it like he was still ten years old – somehow managing to get everything but the top of his head underneath it without letting go of Dean at all. "...th'nks..." he slurred sleepily.

Bobby ran a hand through Sam's touseled hair. "Get some rest," he whispered, and felt Sam nod against his hand. He moved back to the hallway, closing the door softly behind him so the room would stay cool enough for Dean to be able to rest comfortably under all that material.

As he headed back down the stairs, Bobby frowned as a loud vibrating buzz hit his ears. He rushed the rest of the way down the stairs and into the living room, where Dean's cell phone – the only one the boys possessed at the moment - was about to dance its way off the table. Just as he reached for it, the phone went still and quiet.

"Huh," Bobby said, picking up the phone and checking the number.

 _Dad_ read the caller ID.

Before he could even react to this, Bobby's pocket began to vibrate. He pulled his own phone out and turned it so he could see the ID. "Figures," he growled, seeing _JDW_ blinking up at him.

He flipped it open mid-vibration and brought it up to his ear. "I got nothin' to say to you, Winchester."

 _"Then don't say anything but yes or no!"_ The deep voice was full of tension. _"Are my boys with you?"_

"You got some nerve askin' me anything, much less that, after what you did to those boys," Bobby spat. "You let Dean get hit by a damn _car,_ you son of a bitch! You abandoned both your sons!"

 _"Singer, dammit, this is urgent! I don't have time for your-"_

"It's always urgent with you, Winchester. You've done enough to hurt those two. Even if they were here, I wouldn't tell you!"

 _"Dammit, Singer, listen to me, you flannel-wrapped piece of-"_

"Goodbye, Winchester."

John Winchester's voice rose to a near scream to be heard if Bobby was lowering the phone –which he was. _"I'm in Palo Alto! Their apartment just burned to the ground!"_

Bobby froze. Slowly, he raised the phone back to his ear, wincing at the volume as John was still yelling. "Say that again – softer."

He heard a long intake of breath, and a slow release, and then John's voice. Normal volume, but calm. Dangerously calm. _"I'm in Palo Alto. Sam and Dean's apartment just burned to the ground."_

"Did you set the fire?"

 _"What? No! How in the hell could you even think that I'd do something like that?"_

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Well, you _did_ let Dean get hit by a car!"

 _"I knew he'd be okay- and this is completely different! Their apartment is gone and I can't find them! Singer, do you know where they are?"_

"Like I said – even if they were here, I wouldn't tell you."

 _"_ _Dammit_ _, Singer! They're my_ _sons_ _!"_

"Funny how they're only your sons when it suits _you_ for them to be your sons."

There was a growl, then John's voice softened. _"I just want to know they're okay."_

"Well, tell me this. Where they in the apartment when it went up?"

 _"No. They weren't."_

"Then they're a damn sight better than dead."

 _"Singer, you lousy, no good-"_

"Goodbye, Winchester." Bobby closed the phone on his furious splutters.

He ignored it going off, sitting there with it in his hand until John quit calling.

After that very long half hour, Bobby went back to his translating. He tried his best. Honestly, he did.

But his whirling thoughts were fixed on the boys peacefully sleeping upstairs and the furious phone call with the alarming news.

Something wasn't quite right about that phone call. Something more than the apartment burning down.

But damned if he could put his finger on it at the moment.

Frustrated, Bobby turned out the lights after an hour and went upstairs to his own bed.

But sleep didn't come easily, and his dreams were troubled.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

Sam came into the kitchen the next morning, buttoning his shirt and giving Bobby a huge smile. "Hey, Bobby. Dean's surfacing and will be -" His smile froze. "...hey, what happened?"

Bobby looked up at him from where he was sitting at the table. "Didn't get much sleep last night. Got a rather disturbing phone call."

"How disturbing?"

"Disturbing enough. I'm telling you and letting you decide how to tell Dean. You know him better than anyone."

From John, that would have been a sneering put down – when he was drunk. When he was just himself, it would have been a grudging admission. From Sam's ex-girlfriend, it would have been an expression of frustration.

But from Bobby – who had accepted Dean from the first moment John had arrived on his doorstep looking like he'd been shot and monotoning the words "Dean's autistic" in a state of shock – from Bobby, they were just a simple acknowledgment of the way things were.

Sensing this, Sam nodded. "All right. You better lay it on me, then."

"Sit down, Sam." He waited until Sam was seated, and then he told him.

At the short story's finish, Bobby stood and walked over to Sam, who sat with his face bowed into his hands. Though he made no sound, when Bobby gently lay his hands on the bent shoulders, he could feel them badly trembling. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm really, truly sorry."

Sam nodded slowly and lowered his hands. "I'd better..." He stood up, breathing deeply. "I'm gonna go see about Dean."

Bobby watched him go, feeling something curl tight in his belly. His feet were moving before he was consciously aware of it, following Sam upstairs.

Somehow, he sensed that something big was going down – and these two were smack in the middle of it.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

Sam entered the cool bedroom to find Dean scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. He sat down beside his brother and smiled slightly.

Dean returned the smile and rasped out, "Mornin', Sammy. I smell bacon."

"That's your nose playing tricks," Sam chuckled. "No bacon yet."

"Whose turn?" Dean asked as he peeled back the covers and swung his legs out of the bed.

"Yours, I think," Sam said. He felt the smile fade and took a deep breath. "Look...Dean..." He sputtered to a stop at his brother's upraised hand.

"Bathroom first. Coffee second. Conversation after." With that, Dean padded out of the bedroom, giving Bobby a small smile as he passed by.

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. "Some things never change. I'll start breakfast and coffee."

Sam nodded. He made up the bed and lay an outfit on it. Unless they were on a hunt, Dean would sometimes forget to change out of pyjamas.

John had racked that little idiosyncrosity up to the Asperger's, but Sam had always thought it was just Dean wanting to be comfortable.

Bobby watched him for a minute. "Wish I could take this from you."

"Yeah, me too," Sam sighed. "But – be with us through it?"

A small smile touched Bobby's lips. "You don't even have to ask."

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

Dean had a cup of coffee and a bacon and egg on toast sandwich before he felt awake enough to ask, "So what's the problem?"

"Our apartment burned down," Sam said softly. "Dad called Bobby."

"Tried to call you first," Bobby put in. "But you left your phone down here. So he called me."

Dean nodded. He took his dishes to the sink, and then walked over to Bobby's computer, firing it up.

Bobby frowned. "What's he doing?"

"Verifying," Sam nodded. "Because it came from Dad-"

"—and Dad's been known to stretch the truth to get us to do things," Dean finished. He typed in _APARTMENT FIRE PALO ALTO_ and waited. He drew in his breath with a hiss and clicked a link, watching as it loaded.

Sam sat beside him. "I take it Dad wasn't lying."

"Nope," Dean ground out. "Other half of the duplex is water damaged, but intact. Our half is ashes." His eyes suddenly widened. "Son of a bitch!"

"What?" Bobby demanded.

Sam leaned over to see and his curse rose to meet Dean's. "They found a body in the apartment. Thought it was me, till Mrs. Phelps told the police that we'd left together for the 're doing a post-mortem and going to see about using dental records to ID the body."

Dean turned to look at Sam. "What was a body doing in our apartment?"

"Let's go find out," Sam growled and Dean nodded agreement.

"First step," Bobby said. "You two pack while I go replace Sam's phone. Then we close up shop here. We should be on the road by five."

He realised this mistake at the same time Sam did, and they winced in unison. Inadvertently, they'd locked the Human Stopwatch into racing the clock. Sam put a hand on Dean's arm. "We'll do our best, but if we run late, it doesn't matter. Okay?"

Dean sighed. "All right." But he was still a little fixated – Sam could see it in his eyes.

He curled a hand around the back of Dean's neck and squeezed. Dean smiled at him, and he whispered, "Jerk."

Dean pulled away and headed to start getting ready. He turned at the doorway and teased, "Bitch," before he left the room.

Sam's grin lasted a few hours.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

As they loaded the Impala and Bobby's clumsy looking but souped up Chevelle, Bobby pulled Sam aside. "I read that article," he said in a low voice. "You named a name, but no names were mentioned. How do you know it was this Mrs Phillips that gave them the information?"

Sam chuckled. "Phelps, Bobby. Mrs Phelps – like the 'Mission: Impossible' guy. Lives in the other apartment in the duplex. I told her we were leaving so she could keep an eye on the place for us."

Bobby snorted softly. "Well, she did a bang-up job."

"She did," Sam defended. "She always has. I'd lay odds that whatever happened wasn't her fault. We do still need to talk to her, though."

"Isn't her half water damaged? Any idea where she'd be?"

Sam grinned. "Yep. Same place we're headed to."

The single long blast of sound from the Impala's horn made both of them startle and turn to face the old car. Dean saw he had their attention and grinned, lifting his hand from the horn and straightening up to lean over the top of the car. "You two comin' or what?"

"Get your panties untwisted, Deanna," Bobby shot back. "We're comin'!"

Dean blinked, visibly startled. Then he began to laugh. Shaking his head, he slid behind the wheel and turned the Impala's engine over, shoulders still quaking with mirth.

Sam grinned, clapping Bobby on the shoulder as he headed for his brother. It always warmed him to the core whenever someone who knew about Dean's 'difference' decided it didn't matter and treated him as normally as possible.

Down to handing Dean the same kind of teasing Dean handed Sam.

As he got into the passenger seat, Sam glanced at his watch and couldn't stop the soft huff of air or the fond shake of his head.

Five o'clock. On the dot.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

Eighteen hours later, the Impala and Chevelle pulled up outside the Stanford Arms hotel in Palo Alto. Bobby went in and procured two rooms – one for himself and one for his 'sons' – with a connecting door.

Dean walked into the room and whooped, making a beeline for the Magic Fingers bed. "Oh, _man_ \- I can't believe we got one of these!"

"Here's the plan," Sam said over the hum of the massaging mattress as he dropped his duffels on the other bed and began to set up his laptop. "We rest a couple of hours, then grab something to eat. Then we recover from the drive and set out tomorrow morning to talk to Mrs. Phelps. How does that sound?"

No reply.

"Dean?" Sam turned from the table and grinned, shaking his head.

Dean was already sound asleep.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

"Yes?" a reedy, fragile voice wafted through the door in response to Dean's knock. "Who's there?"

The brothers looked at each other and grinned. Then Sam called, "Sam and Dean, Mrs Phelps!"

The chain rattled and there was the unmistakeable 'thunk' of the metal lock hitting the wall. The door was jerked open, and the deceptively frail-appearing form of Mrs Phelps filled the doorway. "Boys!" she laughed, her voice no longer fragile. "Oh, it's so good to see you! Come in, come in! We have a _lot_ to talk about!"

Knowing from experience how futile it was to resist this tiny force of nature, the brothers followed her inside.

The door shut behind them with a decisive 'thump' and she slid the locks and chain back into place.

Mrs Phelps hugged both of them and then asked, "Are you boys all right?"

Sam nodded. "We were at our uncle's house when we heard. Are _you_ all right?" Part of him noticed Dean sidling toward the bathroom, but he trusted his brother enough to not call attention to it.

"I am," she sighed. "I had just left the apartment when—"

Dean's delighted cry of _"Dragon!"_ interrupted them. Sam had to laugh as Dean bent and straightened with an overly wiggly Jack Russell terrier in his arms. For its part, the dog was wagging its tail as if trying to twist itself in half while it tried in vain to give Dean's face a bath with its tongue.

"Okay, okay!" Dean laughed, wrestling the dog onto the bed and playing with it as he chuckled. "I'm glad to see you, too, boy!"

Sam grinned. "Glad to see he's okay, too. They're letting him stay? Didn't think dogs were allowed."

Mrs Phelps smirked. "Sammy," she said in that reedy, fragile voice that they'd heard through the door. "I am an old, frail woman with only him left in the world after those vicious animals burned your apartment and damaged mine!" The smile widened and her voice returned to normal. "I know which buttons to push."

"Adopt us, please," Dean asked. It was a running joke between them by now.

"You'd eat me out of house and home," she shot back with a grin, her part of the banter.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. Then he sobered. "Mrs Phelps, did you see who did this?"

"Oh, absolutely," she nodded, sitting on the bed and patting her leg. Dragon crept into her lap and she petted him as she spoke.

"There were three of them – an older man and two kids about your age. A boy and a girl. They just drove right up, let themselves in, and stayed awhile. Then there were strange noises and the girl left. The older man came out a few minutes later, and they drove away. I took Dragon and my phone and was heading round to get Jeremy to help me confront the young man – he didn't belong there, after all – when there was a roaring sound and your half of the duplex just ... seemed to explode. Knocked me down! I got up, picked Dragon up, ran to Jeremy's and called the police and fire department." She shuddered. "They found the young man's body and thought it was you, Sammy! I was so pleased to be able to tell them it wasn't, I can't even tell you..."

"The two that left," Sam asked. "Could you tell us more about them?"

"Well," she said slowly, clearly thinking hard. "The girl was nearly as tall as Dean. Long blonde hair. Very athletic looking – just a bit thick about the middle, though. Struck me a little odd that she was wearing a man's jacket – had 'RAYS' on the back of it and the number 15."

Sam's eyes went huge and snapped to Dean.

Dean frowned. "Wasn't that your old varsity jacket? The one I bought you when you won that soccer trophy?" To Mrs Phelps he said, "I bought him an adult size to grow into."

"That's the one," Sam growled. "When we left her at the truck stop, I'd forgotten she had it in her bag." His fists clenched. "And that means that girl she saw... that was Jess."

"Who's Jess?" Mrs Phelps asked, frowning.

"My ex-girlfriend," Sam gritted out.

"They broke up because of me," Dean said, eyes down.

"Hey," Sam curled a hand around the back of Dean's neck. "Can you look at me for a second?" When Dean's eyes met his, Sam finished, _"Not_ because of you. Anyone who really loves me will love you, too." Dean began to smirk, and the supportive hand turned into one that gently whacked the back of Dean's head. "Not like _that!_ Jerk!"

"Jerk," Dean echoed, mindful of the fact that Mrs Phelps did not like cursing. His eyes skittered off Sam's, but both were smiling and Dean's self-blame had lessened.

Shaking his head, Sam asked, "The older man – what can you tell us about him?"

Mrs Phelps nodded toward Sam. "He was easily your height. Salt and pepper hair, rough beard. Broad – black leather jacket. They came in his vehicle and they left in his vehicle."

"You think they killed the young man?" Sam asked.

"I do," she said. "If not out and out murder, they certainly left him there to burn. I'm positive they set the fire."

Sam shook his head. "But that just doesn't sound right. Jess is many things, but she's not a killer."

Dean's frown had grown deeper and deeper as the others talked. He piped up, "The vehicle – huge black truck? Light plates?"

"I didn't see the plates," Mrs Phelps admitted. "But, yes – it was a big black truck."

Dean turned stricken eyes to Sam. "Dad."

Sam's jaw clenched. "We need to find out who that body was and what was wrong with it."

Mrs Phelps looked horrified. "Oh, boys – your _father_ had something to do with it?"

"He left me alone and let me get hit by a car," Dean growled. "The man is capable of _anything._ You – please – be careful."

Her chin rose. "I can take care of myself, Dean. It's sweet of you to worry – but I'll be all right. He may be capable of anything, as you say." She smiled. "But so am I."

Both brothers returned her smile. They knew her well enough to know that was the absolute truth.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

Bobby was visibly horrified. "John? You think John and that girl Jean-"

"Jess," they chorused.

"Jess," he corrected himself. "You think they did this?"

Both brothers nodded. "The descriptions are uncanny," Sam sighed. "But I'm having a hard time believing Dad would murder a human."

"Agreed," Dean said. "We've got to get in to see that body. But we're both known on campus."

"I ain't," Bobby said. He walked to his duffel and drew out a suit. "Both of you, follow my lead once I'm changed."

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

'FBI Agent Willis' brought Sam and Dean Winchester to the morgue in the hopes that they would be able to put a name to the body.

"What's FBI want with an arson case?" the medical examiner asked.

"We think this case may be linked to a string of arsons and murders across state lines," Bobby said smoothly.

"I've seen nothing in the news," the examiner frowned.

"We are not obligated to report every investigation to the media," Bobby shot back. "Now let us see that body."

The examiner shook his head and raised his hands. "Okay. But it's not on me, agreed?"

"I'll take full responsibility," Bobby assured him.

"Follow me." The examiner led them into the morgue area and walked over to the wall. Then he turned to the Winchesters. "Being as how you two are civilians, I'm really sorry you gotta see this."

"It's okay, doctor," Sam smiled. "My brother and I have seen several corpses in our side job."

Now the examiner was intrigued. He paused and asked, "Okay, I gotta know."

"Family business," the brothers chorused, then Sam finished, "Extermination."

"Mostly nuisance creatures," Dean finished. "But you'd be surprised how many bodies -"

"—in any state you can picture," Sam interrupted.

"—you run across in our line of work," Dean finished with a decisive nod.

The examiner nodded. "Okay, but I gotta warn you – this one is pretty bad."

"Duly noted," Sam said, and Dean nodded.

"Fair enough," Bobby said. "Like I said – I take all responsibility. Open the drawer."

The examiner flipped the latch and slid the door open. He pulled out the drawer and unzipped the body bag, spreading it to expose the entire corpse.

Sam grimaced and looked away for a second. Dean's left fist rose to his mouth as he visibly fought down a wave of nausea.

"Do we-" Bobby swallowed hard and began again. "Do we have a cause of death?"

Dean frowned. "Didn't he burn to death?"

"No," came the surprising answer from the examiner. "He didn't. Cause of death was a severed carotid artery. That's a -"

"A cut throat," Sam said in a shaky voice. "Yeah, we know."

The examiner nodded. "The genital mutilation was ante-mortem, but was not a contributing factor to his demise."

Dean blinked, his eyes widening. "Genital...what? Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," he replied. "The scrotum was sliced open, as was each testicle. It was almost as if the murderer destroyed his ability to reproduce before his life was taken."

Horrified recognition bloomed in three pairs of eyes that met briefly.

"Are you able to identify him?" the examiner asked.

Sam stepped forward and picked up a pen. Knowing that one of the pair was Jess, he had a sneaky suspicion of who the corpse was. Using the pen, he gently slid the right side of the lower lip down.

When a pair of heat-marked porcelain crowns were revealed to be sitting side by side in the mouth, Sam swallowed hard. "His name was Tyson Brady," he said softly. "He was a classmate of mine."

"Wasn't he Jess's boyfriend after you broke up?" Dean asked, and Sam's nod confirmed it. "Well, damn."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, putting the pen back onto the table. "That just about sums it up, right there."

The examiner nodded. "Thank you, Mister Winchester. At least we can bury him under his own name and not as a John Doe."

Bobby put in, "So he was dead before the fire erupted."

"Completely," the examiner confirmed. "He didn't burn to death." He made a note of the identification, and then set about restoring the corpse to its bag and tray.

It was three very shaken men who left the medical examiner's office. Not a word was spoken until they were in the Impala.

Dean didn't even complain about Bobby sliding behind the wheel, and that – more than anything – told them exactly how shaken Dean was.

They were a few miles down the road when Bobby spoke up. "That was what John said happened to your mother, wasn't it? Her womb was ripped open?"

Sam answered, "Her belly was torn open. I don't know about-"

"Lower belly," Dean breathed. "So, yeah – could have been her womb."

Sam nodded, chewing thoughtfully on his thumbnail. "So the thing that killed Mom... probably killed Brady."

Dean turned to look at him over the back of the seat. "Yeah, but didn't Mrs Phelps think that our dad and Jess were involved?"

"Yeah, it doesn't make sense," Sam sighed, leaning back in his seat. "None of this does!"

"Least of which," Dean teased, "why you call your friend by his last name!"

"He hates – hated - He hated his first name," Sam explained. "Even after he went off the rails our sophomore year, he insisted we call him 'Brady' instead of 'Tyson'."

"Off the rails?" Bobby asked as he pulled the Impala into the hotel's parking lot. "What do you mean?"

"He came back from vacation – well, he was different," Sam said as they walked to their room and re-checked the wards. "His straight A GPA gave way to partying and drugs. We tried to help him, but..." Sam shook his head.

"How come he hated his first name?" Dean asked, never quite able to let things go until he understood.

"I don't really know," Sam shrugged. "He just would shoot back something along the lines of it made him sound like a chicken farmer."

Dean and Bobby chuckled softly, then Bobby said "Sounds like he had a complete personality shift while he was gone." His eyes narrowed. "For the negative. A little - _too_ \- complete."

"What do you mean?" the brothers chorused.

"Ever heard of demon possession?" Bobby snapped, then growled as both brothers shook their heads. "One more reason to put buckshot in your daddy's ass." At their puzzled expressions, he went on, "The idjit raised you to be hunters, right?" They nodded in unison. "Well, his damn 'need to know' philosophy and 'keep you kids' mentality led him to create two _blind, ignorant_ hunters!"

Sam and Dean instantly looked at each other, then back at Bobby.

He held up a hand. "I ain't talkin' about Dean's autism, here I'm not ever sure that's a factor. I'm talkin' about John teaching you only the bare damned basics of hunting and thinking that would be enough to keep you safe once you're thrown into the damned deep end!"

Dean took a deep breath and summed it up. "We got a lot to learn, huh?"

Bobby was startled out of his ire. He grinned fondly and shook his head. "A whole hell of a lot," he admitted.

"So," Dean said, sitting on the bed and curling his feet underneath himself. "Let's get to it!"

"After supper," Sam said as his empty stomach made its displeasure known – quite loudly.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

The brothers and Bobby stayed put for a solid two weeks as Bobby taught them everything he knew, where he found John had left gaps in their knowledge.

Dean produced the co-ordinates that their father had sent them – twice by now – and Bobby showed them the lore from that area.

"John's sending you after a possible Wendigo," he said, his voice thick with disgust. "Blind – as usual. Good way to get you and your brother killed."

Before they could react, the police scanner in the room went off. _"Fire at-"_ And the address was horribly familiar.

Their duplex. The other apartment was burning. "Mrs Phelps," Dean gasped.

"Isn't she still down the hall?" Bobby asked.

"No," Sam growled. "She checked out today. Said she'd had enough of living out of suitcases – and was going home!"

Swearing, the three ran to the Impala – to find Dragon standing there, waiting for them! "Dragon, what the-" Dean gasped.

A chuckle drew their attention. Mrs Phelps was sitting in her tiny little car, smiling at them. "You boys act like you're worried!"

 _"Christo,"_ Bobby said, and all three breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes didn't change. But Bobby offered her a drink of water, just to be certain.

When she wasn't affected by the holy water, Dean asked, "Are you all right? Your apartment-"

"I had a feeling," she sighed. "I was heading there and as I started round the corner, I saw that truck. So I just turned off, backed up, and headed back here. I'd be a fool to go home with those two skulking about."

Dean put a hand on her arm through the open window. "But now you don't have a home, either."

"Oh, Dean..." She smlied and patted his hand. "You're always so sweet to an old lady. But I'll be all right. I've been meaning to go visit my daughter anyway. This just gives me an excuse!"

Dean grinned and stepped back. "How far away does she live?"

"Ellen runs a bar in Nebraska," Mrs Phelps nodded. "Two tanks of gas and an overnight rest stop." She turned on the car. "Keep in touch, boys!" She waved and drove away.

Then she drove right back and whistled, and Dragon leapt into the car. Then she rounded the corner, out of sight.

Bobby's jaw dropped as he stared after her. Her daughter Ellen...ran a bar in Nebraska? ... Nah. World couldn't be _that_ small.

...Could it?

Dean sighed. "I'm gonna miss her."

Sam bumped his shoulder. "You're gonna miss Dragon more."

"Shut up." But Dean was smiling. He sighed again and shook his head, turning to face Bobby. "So...what now?"

"We go check out," Bobby replied. "And we go to your duplex, see if we can find that truck and find out exactly what's gone so damned sideways with your daddy."

After a moment's thought, Sam asked, "Bobby – do you think Dad could be possessed?"

"At this point, Sam?" Bobby met his eyes. "It's best not to rule out _anything."_

Dean chewed on his lip. "What's to keep _us_ from being taken over?"

Bobby tilted his head in the direction of the trunk of his car. "I have some charms -"

"Charms can be snapped off," Dean put in. "We need something internal..."

"There is this," Bobby said. He rolled his t-shirt collar down to show a small black tattoo under his collarbone – a star in a circle on fire. "But if you two want to go after your daddy tonight-"

"We'll make the time," they chorused, then Dean nodded. "Best to be as prepared as we can be. That might take them by surprise." He pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"Texting Dad," Dean smiled. "Telling him we're heading to those co-ordinates in Colorado."

Sam's eyes widened. "You're _lying_ to Dad?" he gasped. Dean had never lied to their father before.

"Nope," Dean said as he pocketed the phone. "Just insuring we know where he is. The possible Wendigo will still be there after we get inked. And if he _iis/i_ sending us those co-ordinates to see us go in blind and get hurt—"

"Then he'll want to be there," Sam said slowly.

Dean nodded. His pocket vibrated and he clawed out his phone. "A text," he reported. A couple of buttons later, he grinned humourlessly. "Yahtzee," he said and turned the phone so both of them could read it.

 _FANTASTIC. SEE YOU THERE._

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

Four days later, the Impala rolled into a small town near Blackwater Ridge, Colorado. The plan was to check in, lay low, and do some legwork that would make their father think they still had no idea what was going on while they waited for Bobby to get there.

Sure enough, when they pulled up outside the office, there was their father's truck parked at the opposite end of the lot. Dean shut off the car, and Sam turned to look at him. "You sure about this?"

"No," Dean answered. "But we need to keep him unguarded until Bobby gets here tonight. Not let him know that we know – and if he's goaded into lecturing us..."

Sam nodded grimly. "Let's do this, then." They got out of the car and Sam went inside while Dean unloaded their duffels.

Sam got a room and paid with a credit card, signing the register with the same name as on the card.

 _Dean Winchester._

It was a fake card – the middle initial was 'J', not Dean's 'M'. But the name on the register would definitely get their father's attention.

Sam felt his lips quirk when he saw 'Jay Hawke' on the register. Sometimes John's aliases took a hard left turn into Pun Territory. He returned to Dean and handed him a key. "It's him, all right."

Dean nodded, face blank. "Let's go set up shop, then."

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

Some hours later, a coded knock sounded on their door. Dean made sure the salt line was scuffed – just in case they were correct about him being possessed, they didn't want to tip their hand too soon – and then opened the door.

John walked boldly in, anger radiating from him. "Your real name?" he snarled at Dean. "I thought I taught you better than that!"

Dean's eyes skittered off his father's. "Sorry, sir. Wasn't thinking."

John huffed. "So, here's the plan. We wait till dark, then we go check for the Wendigo. I think I know where it may be, but-"

"Yes, sir," Sam said as he walked out of the bathroom. "So do we."

John froze. "...Sam..." He pulled him into a back-thumping hug.

Sam's eyes met Dean's, then he patted John's shoulder.

Dean's lips thinned. This was so far off normal for his dad that this might as well have been a different person altogether.

Possessed was looking more and more logical. And Dean didn't like it one bit.

Sam broke the hug and even mustered up a small smile. "So...say ten? Eleven?"

John nodded. "See you then, Sam." He didn't even glance at Dean as he left the room.

As Sam reset the salt line, he growled, "That was unusual."

"Very," Dean sighed. "I've always been - difficult – for Dad to understand, but he's never shown that blatant..." His fists clenched as words failed him. "Suddenly you're the favourite son and I'm something to be scraped off his shoe."

"Dean," Sam sighed.

"He's completely different, Sammy. That's not our dad. And our dad _wouldn't_ have just pulled up stakes and left like he did in Jericho."

Sam opened his mouth to answer that, but then what Dean seemed to be saying hit him between the eyes and he slowly closed it as he blinked. "...Dean...are you telling me that you think Dad was possessed in _Jericho?"_

"Think about it – once you left, he stayed just long enough to make sure I could take care of myself and then he struck out on his own. For three years, he contacts me periodically to touch base. We meet up every few weeks. Then suddenly – I hear nothing. Even when I get hit by the car, he doesn't answer his phone or show up. He abandons me – he abandons his children. That's not Dad." He then frowned as he glanced at the clock. "Where's Bobby? He should have been here by now."

Sam texted him to find out and got the reply back moments later: _Go on the hunt. Keep me abreast of location. Will be there later than expected – had to make a detour._

A second text arrived moments after that. _Tell Dean to stop timekeeping me._

Dean rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

An hour later, the brothers went to "Jay Hawke"'s room for a strategy session. The door was opened by a familiar face.

"Jess," Sam breathed.

She smiled and went into his arms, holding him tight. "Sam." She looked into his eyes. "I knew you'd come back."

"I'm not back to you," Sam informed her coldly. "That ship's sailed."

"It'll come back," she smiled as she let them in. "Especially now."

"What's now?" Dean asked as he sat down on the bed, ignoring the thing sitting at the desk wearing his father's face.

Sam studied his ex-girlfriend closely. "...Jess, you've put on weight..."

John chuckled. "Being pregnant will do that to a lady, Sam."

Both brothers' eyes widened and snapped to a smiling Jess. "...what?" they yelped in unison.

"I was going to tell you," she explained. "But you left me by the side of the road before I could." She smiled and stepped forward again, arms raising to hug him. "But now we can be together again and-"

"Jessica," John said. "Save the relationship details for after the hunt."

Her arms lowered and her smile faded. "Yes, Mister Winchester." She returned to the bed she had been sitting on and picked up her book.

"So," Dean asked in the awkward silence that seemed to have fallen with an audible "thunk". "This Wendigo hasn't been active in several decades. It's probably hibernating."

"So we just need to find it," Sam nodded. "But how?"

John smiled. "Way ahead of you." He produced topographic maps of the are. "Wendigos tend to go underground to hibernate. There is a network of mines that criss-cross this area. Two of them – this one and this one – are large enough for a Wendigo to nest in."

Sam nodded. He didn't see fit to inform this version of his father that Dean had figured that out before they came over. The Wendigo – if it woke up – was the immediate threat. Their altered father could wait till this hunt was finished. "So if we destroy it before it wakes up..."

"Right," John nodded. "So, I propse we split up. You and I check out this one-" He lay his finger on one of the two 'X's he'd drawn on the map. "—and Dean checks out this one."

"No," Sam said.

"Sam," John began, his voice a dangerous snarl.

"I said no," Sam said, his voice calm but firm. "Dean and I are a team. We will _not_ be split up."

John's eyes narrowed. "I need you to back me up!"

"Then come with us," Dean said.

When Sam nodded, John sighed. "Fine," he snarled. "We'll do it your way."

"Thank you," Sam ground out. He looked at Dean. "Which one first?"

Dean had been studying the map. He put his finger on the larger of the two cave systems. "This one. The Wendigo would use a bigger lair. Easier to fill with prey."

Sam nodded. "We'll set out at midnight."

Before either John or Jess could react, Sam and Dean walked out of the room.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

At midnight, the Winchesters left Jess in the room and made the journey to the mines. Sam texted precise co-ordinates to Bobby before he got out of the car. Dean and John were gathering weaponry and didn't notice.

Together, the trio entered the mine. They walked deep into it and emerged into a subterranean cavern.

A dark shape was visible in the centre. Sam shone his flashlight on it, and a startled Wendigo raised its head. Blinking sluggishly, it growled a sleepy query.

Before John could issue any kind of order, Dean had fired a flare gun. The Wendigo writhed and wailed as it was immolated.

Dean fired twice more, and the dried-out remains of the Wendigo's last feeding cycle's victims burned.

Without a word, the brothers walked out of the mine, leaving their frustrated father to follow them.

When they were nearly back to the car, frustration had turned to rage. "What in the _hell_ were you playing at down there?"

Dean shook his head. "We weren't playing at anything, Dad. We were doing our jobs – killing the Wendigo that you sent us the co-ordinates to find and to destroy before it woke up and fed again. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

John opened his mouth to answer, but Sam's soft voice stopped him.

"No – it wasn't.' Sam took a step toward their father, putting his slightly taller body between Dean and John. "The _plan_ was for us to go in blind, with only a half-formed theory. Then, when that fell through, the _plan_ was for you to go in alone, have a debilitating sensory spike in the close darkness, and have the woke-up Wendigo kill you!"

"What?" John yelped. "No! I would _never-"_

"You're right," Sam said. "Our father would never knowingly put us in a situation where we would be killed. But then again – you aren't our father."

"Sam—"

Sam's voice cut over John's again. "You've been riding him for months, haven't you? Torturing him, trying to kill us..."

His voice trailed off, and into the sudden quiet came a truly terrible sound.

John was chuckling, but it wasn't his laugh. It was a dark, nasty one. He lowered his head, and when he raised it, his eyes were a sickly yellow. "I'm impressed," he laughed softly, slashing a hand through the air.

Sam and Dean flew in nearly opposite directions, each one coming to rest pinned a few feet off the ground, with their spines being forcibly pressed into tree trunks.

"How did you figure it out?" he challenged the brothers.

"You weren't right," Dean growled.

"Just like you," the demon laughed.

"Hey!" Sam yelled. "It was you, wasn't it? Why'd you kill our mother?"

"She interrupted me," the demon shrugged. "If she'd have just stayed in bed, she would have lived."

Sam frowned. "Interrupted you?"

Dean struggled against the force holding them. "He was in your nursery...Mom came in..."

"Interrupted him..." Sam's eyes narrowed as things slotted into place. "What did you do to me?"

"Made you blood of my blood," the creature laughed. "Better than mother's milk. My blood flows in your veins, Sam. It will make you powerful."

 _"What?"_ the brothers roared.

"Always were my favourite," the demon purred, yellow eyes locked onto Sam's as it twisted their father's face into a sick leer. "Always the one I could make the most powerful with just...the right..." He turned and Dean's back arched against the tree he was pinned to as he screamed. "...push..."

"Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!" Sam roared. "Leave him alone!"

"He's nothing," the demon growled. "Nothing at all. An autistic burden around your neck! Not even worth my time!" He twisted his wrist and Dean groaned, head falling forward. "Better I just kill him and get it over with. Then you're mine, Sammy."

"Dad!" Dean snarled through clenched teeth. "Daddy, don't you let him kill me!"

The yellow flickered to brown briefly and John's body trembled. Dean gasped as the pressure was released, though he was still pinned to the tree. "No..." John whispered.

Then his eyes flared yellow again. "Yes!" the demon roared. "You're stronger than I thought, Winchester – but yes! You're all mine, now! All of you – for me to do with what I -"

There was the sound of a gunshot and his left leg erupted in blood and tissue and lightning. Suddenly unable to stand, John's body crumpled to the ground.

Sam and Dean landed on their knees on the forest floor seconds later. "Dean!" Sam crawled over to his brother. "Dean! _DEAN!"_

Dean nodded at him, breathing hard. "...didn't do more...than squeeze my ribs...m'bruised...but m'okay...Dad stopped him..."

Sam caught him in a huge hug and then they stood, together, moving to stand over their father's body.

Brown eyes suddenly snapped open. "It's still in me," he gasped. "I can feel it..."

"John, I'm sorry," a welcome voice called and Bobby walked into the clearing, "Boys, I'm sorry. We can't let it get away."

Dean's eyes went huge. "But that means..."

"I'm sorry," Bobby repeated and his hand rose. In it was an antique Colt revolver and the barrel was smoking. "I was late cause I had to get this."

"Elkins," John gulped, struggling with the force of holding back the demon. "I know...what you gotta do...I want you to...end this."

"Dad," his boys chorused.

John's eyes rolled to Dean's. "...since before Jericho, Dean...Jumped me...haven't been in control...of my own body...since Jericho...I...I love you...I'm sorry...If I'd have been myself...when you were hit..."

Dean nodded. "I knew something was wrong. You'd have been there."

"Forgive me...I have to ..."

He nodded, tears in his eyes. "I don't like it. But I know. L... Love you too, Dad."

"Sammy..."

"Don't," Sam said, shaking his head. "I know. It's okay."

He nodded and then said, "Dean, don't want you ...watching."

Dean nodded and followed his dad's orders, turning his face into Sam's shoulder.

"Take...care...each other..." He looked at Bobby and nodded.

Then his eyes flared yellow and he roared wordlessly as Bobby fired one shot.

When the light show died, the demon with yellow eyes was forever gone and John Winchester's body lay crumpled on a nondescript forest floor in Colorado with a Colt's bullet lodged in his heart.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

With the smoke from his father's funeral pyre clinging to his clothing and hair, Sam knocked briskly on Jess's door. She opened it and smiled, but her smile faded as she saw his expression. "...Sam?"

"We are going to the hospital when I wake up," Sam informed her. "If you try to leave before then, I will track you down. I am my father's son, and you know I can do it."

With that, he spun on his heel and started to walk away.

"Sam! Wait! Your father..."

"Dead," Sam said, barely looking over his shoulder. "A casualty of the hunt." He ignored her screaming his name and walked to his room.

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

Five hours later, the brothers and Bobby showed up at Jess's room. They said goodbye to Bobby, who had arranged for a tow of John's truck. They would comb over it at the Salvage Yard.

Jess was there, packed and waiting to go She clearly had not been sleeping and had been crying. They drove her to the hospital, where they had made an ultrasound appointment to see when she was due and what gender she was bearing.

The technician made Jess comfortable and spread gel over her slightly swollen abdomen. She turned on the machine and smiled. "Okay, little miss, let's see what you've got here." She pressed the wand to the gel and began the exam.

Less than one minute in, she froze. Her smile faded.

Sam noticed her expression. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"

"Did your wife-"

"We're not married."

She nodded. "Did she have a positive pregnancy test?"

Sam looked at Jess, who nodded, eyes huge and frightened.

The tech looked at the screen and turned it so Sam could see. "Here is her uterus," she said, pointing.

Dean frowned. "Where's the baby?"

"That's just it," the tech said slowly. "Her womb is empty."

"No baby," Sam whispered, looking at Jess. "You're not pregnant."

"I am!" she yelped. "I am, I am, I am!"

The tech turned off the machine and, while Jess was yelling, called for a doctor. The doctor arrived less than a minute later, and the tech told her the issue.

Nodding, the doctor took Jess's chart in hand and examined it. "So...every symptom lines up. Positive pregnancy test reported...but no child in the womb." She sighed and closed the chart. "I've only seen this twice before."

"What is this?" the brothers chorused.

"It's a false pregnancy," the doctor said. "In a nutshell, her brain has convinced her body that there is a baby there. She believes with everything she is that she is pregnant – but she is not."

"I'm carrying your child, Sam!" she sobbed, reaching for him. "Please, please, help me raise this baby!"

Sam shook his head and stood up. He took the clipboard from the doctor's hand and wrote a number on it. "This is her mother," he informed her. "Call her and keep Jess safe until she gets here."

The doctor nodded. "I take it you are absolving yourself of responsibility for her?"

"There's no child," he said, his eyes snapping with anger. "She created this to force me to return to a relationship with her. I want nothing to do with her." He turned and walked out of the room.

Dean couldn't resist the smile. To Jess, he said brightly, "This isn't my fault, this time." And he took off after his brother.

Jess lay on the table, stunned, as her world collapsed with the closing of the exam room door. She didn't even hear the doctor dialing the number and talking quietly.

"Mrs. Moore? Yes, your daughter Jessica is here in the hospital... Our Lady of Mercy, in Blackwater Ridge, Colorado... Yes, she has presented with a false pregnancy... Well, ma'am, we're not ready to declare her insane at this point..."

As they walked to the Impala, Dean lay a hand on Sam's forearm. "You okay?"

"I'm furious," he growled. "But I'll be okay. Are you?"

"I have to be," he said. "We can't bring Dad back and I'm not sure you want Jess back-" He couldn't help but smile at Sam's soft snort. "So, yeah. I'm okay, too." He frowned. "Except for the fact that we're homeless..."

"Well, we have Bobby's. What do you say we go there and figure out our next move?"

"Sounds good to me. You driving?"

"No, you are. I need a nap."

Dean nodded and changed direction, heading to the driver's side and pulling the door open with a satisfying creak.

The future was a little uncertain now, but they were all right and their parents were avenged.

The rest, they would figure out together.

EPILOGUE

"Well done. Very well done!"

"So," the smaller man asked, rocking back on his booted heels and stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. "Why did you have me shove things to take place like this?"

"This was not Father's plan. This entire usurption of a family – all of that – it was not Father's plan."

"And you know this – why?"

"It has always bothered me," the older man said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why should I battle my brother in one-on-one combat? Why should this world be cleansed of humans and made into an angelic paradise?"

"That's what the prophecy says-"

"Is it?" White-blue eyes bored into golden ones. "Father has always cared for humans over angels. Why, now, would He suddenly sacrifice humans to create paradise – not for His humans, but for angels?"

A frown darkened the shorter man's features. "...He doesn't change that radically...so that would mean that that prophecy-"

"Is a false one," the older man nodded. "And as such, it can be altered and stopped altogether. Which is why I had you do this – to use the skills you developed as a Trickster to change this and save perhaps millions of human lives, and who knows how many angelic ones."

The younger man blew the air out of his cheeks. "So...now what?"

"Two things remain," came the answer. "Samuel Winchester must be cleansed of the taint – and they must follow their true destiny - to save lives and destroy creatures."

He nodded. "So how do we start?" When the older man smiled, he blinked. "I get nervous when you smile, Michael."

"Follow me, Gabriel. We have work to do, still."

 _SPN ASPIE DEAN SPN_

In a darkened bedroom in Lawrence, Kansas, a pair of dark eyes snapped open and a woman was propelled out of bed. She gasped, a hand pressed to her pounding heart as light flooded her bedroom. "...Lord a'mercy, what-"

A slender man in jeans and a light-coloured jacket shimmered into view in her doorway. He smiled and spread his hands. "Missouri Mosely."

She nodded. "You're an angel..."

"Mmm..." He looked at her and his smile turned impish. "Sometimes. Right now, I'm here to deliver a message."

She nodded slowly. "I'm listenin'..."

"Brace yourself, Prophetess. You have an interesting ride ahead of you."

END


End file.
